“Your stepdaughter,” I remind him.
“Whatever,” he says, waving his hand in the air. “The point is… she’s ill. Clearly you can see that from the texts she’s been sending me. She’s done other things, Macintyre. Disgusting things you don’t even want to know about.”
“Oh, I already know,” I say. “I found your files over there and read them all. Every fucking word.”
“Good,” he says, straightening the lapels on his tux. “Good. I’m glad you took the time to familiarize yourself with her. So you know what she’s done in the past. And yet… here you are. Why, Mason? Why are you bothering with this one, mentally ill girl?”
How far will he takes this?
All the way, I decide. This shit he’s running demands that much.
“Why didn’t you get her off?”
“Excuse me?”
“The charges,” I say.
“If you read her criminal files the way you claimed, then you know I did get her off, as you put it. Every single charge was handled.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I saw that. Except… it wasn’t. Not really.”
He squints his eyes at me.
“She was found guilty.”
“Because she was guilty.”
“But then sentencing. Nothing but fines and community service.”
“Because I care about her and didn’t want her to go to prison.”
“Yeah,” I say again. “She’d have gone away for a long time if you didn’t pay off that judge. And then what would you do?” I ask.
“Again, Mr. Macintyre, I’m lost. What is your point?”
“The house,” I say. “What would you do with this estate if Lyssa was in prison? I mean,” I have to shake my head and laugh. Because this man… he is like a goddamned pillar of evil. “If she was in prison she’d be outside your control. And if she was outside your control she wouldn’t be here as your little figurehead. And then how would you run this place?”
He stares at me for a few moments. He knows I know. I can see it in his eyes.
It’s not panic. Not yet. He probably thinks he can make me go away. In his world money makes everything go away.
“I think it’s time you leave,” he says.
Oh, no. His response is nothing as simple as just asking. He is making plans for me right now.
There is a bustle outside the office and I see Lyssa, walking down one of the staircases, dressed in… not the dress I bought her.
The pink one. The one she used to wipe come off her face.
“Lyssa,” I say, reaching for the door handle and pulling it open.
But Baylor’s firm hand on my arm stops me from rushing forward to grab her hand and take her out of here.
“Lyssa!” I call again.
She looks at me with blank eyes. Defeated eyes. Destined to live out her stepfather’s sick fantasy for the rest of her life.
But I say, “No.”
“Get back in here,” Baylor growls, closing the door again. “She’s a sick, sick girl. You knew this when you took the job. And you took advantage of her just as much as I do. I have it all on film. I have cameras everywhere.”
“Even up in the princess room?” I ask, raising one eyebrow. “Because I’d like to take a look at that footage. See if it matches what I have.”
He points his finger in my face and says, “You’re going to walk out of here and never come back, do you hear me? And if you utter one word of these lies to anyone, I will take you down. I will have your mother kicked out of that treatment facility, and I will bury her, and you, at the same time. Whatever you think you know, you’re wrong. And you’re in way over your head, son.”
I slap his finger out of my face.
“You saw the texts, you saw the pictures,” he says.
“Yeah,” I say. “I did. But I saw them first on her phone. Not yours.”
He just stares at me. Then swallows. Because he fucked up. And now he knows it. Didn’t he wonder how she was sending him pictures? Or is this asshole so full of himself he thought he was home free? He thought I was just another greedy motherfucker on his payroll and this was a done deal?
Well, surprise. I’m not.
He finally says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, but you do. You do. You’ve understood every fucking word I just spoke. I don’t think that criminal record is real. I think it’s even possible you encouraged her to drink and do drugs. Because you needed her to be Wild Thing, didn’t you? And then you set her up.”
He’s shaking his head, but not denying it. I don’t think Baylor is used to being called on his shit.
“I know what you’re doing with this house,” I say. It’s not entirely true. I’m guessing. But I’m a good guesser. So I continue without showing any signs of bluffing. “I know about the arranged marriage, and I know all about the photos, Baylor. Because you erased messages in your stream just in case anyone ever found out about your little obsession with your daughter. But you didn’t erase the pictures. Why?”